


the strange desires lupercalia brings

by lalalyds2



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Lupercalia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, Spellcest, not the Lupercalia we got but the Lupercalia we DESERVE, sorry fam, there are SO MANY CHERRIES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 15:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19793851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalyds2/pseuds/lalalyds2
Summary: on some random, previously undocumented Lupercalia, hilda is inspired to take part.-OR-this author can't let go of cherries





	the strange desires lupercalia brings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterhearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterhearts/gifts).



> cayley has a galaxy brain. seriously, i cannot stress this enough.   
> cayley. has. a. galaxy. brain!

She doesn’t understand what Hilda is trying to do. 

Wearing that brooch. 

That brooch that looks like _that_. 

In the day time. 

That brooch that looks like birds that looks like female anatomy. 

That one. 

An on this day, of all days. 

She glares over her coffee cup as Hilda spritzes belladonna in her solarium. Those birds glisten pink and close to the deep-valleyed neckline of Hilda’s shirt. 

Both anatomies mock her from her place in the doorway. 

“Happy Lupercalia, Zelds.” Hilda doesn’t look up as she picks up her indoor trowel, too busy scanning the room for her bag of special fertilizer. 

It rests on the side table by Zelda’s elbow. 

“Nobody says that.” 

She sighs as she sets down her beloved caffeine, takes it up and walks to Hilda’s side. Hilda smiles in thanks, scoops out little spadefuls and feeds her greenery. 

“I do.” 

Zelda stays where she is, watching the valley of brooch and blouse dip lower as Hilda leans over her pots. 

There is a constellation of freckles along the warm skin there. 

She’s almost caught the pattern when hazel eyes catch hers, bringing her gaze back up to Hilda’s amused face. 

Zelda huffs and craves a cigarette. 

Cheeks blooming heat, she escapes out, muttering under her breath all the while.

“And aren’t you peculiar one.” 

~*~ 

She stares from the balcony as lithe bodies twist and twine like velvet ribbons, courting chance and being courted by violins in turn.

A drum thuds somewhere like thigh throb, like thunder lust.

The straps tug on Zelda’s garters as she leans over the bannister. She spreads her legs a bit so they don’t rub, bites her lip and tries not to pout.

Hilda’s missed another year.

She would have enjoyed it. She does so love romance. And this dance has been sweeter than past events.

She’s musing on her little sister perhaps a little too much when a man sweeps through on charmed wind.

He asks her to dance and she says yes.

He’s very tall.

They twirl and twine and talk velveteen, but her eyes keep catching on flashing blonde and women’s fingertips.

She heads home early, not quite knowing why.

~*~

Hilda’s got strawberry crepes on the table as she slips in.

It’s surprising.

Hilda is usually in bed by the time she’s home, even at this early hour.

This time however, Hilda’s up and smiling at her, that bird brooch glowing soft and tantalizing under kitchen fluorescents.

“This is unusual, sister,” Zelda comments, eyes narrowing as she sits down.

Hilda’s at the counter, holding a strawberry by a green stem, sharp little teeth biting off the top pink nub.

Zelda swallows, crosses one leg over the other.

“I’ve gotten into the holiday mood, it seems.” Hilda says from around fruit pulp.

Zelda frowns.

“And who is the lucky warlock?”

Hilda finishes her strawberry.

The alarm grows.

“It’s not a _mortal_ , is it? Sister?”

Hilda sucks juice from her fingers. Her cheeks hollow.

Zelda’s ire grows. She squirms where she sits.

“ _Hildegard_.”

“Just eat your crepe, Zelds.”

Zelda glares, not so much cutting the thin pancake as she is stabbing it, spears it into her mouth.

Swallows a swoon as fruit and chocolate bursts flavor onto her tongue. The strawberries are only just ripe, the tartness commingling richly with hazelnut and cocoa.

She loses all other senses for a solid five seconds.

Hilda beams and is suddenly there, looming over the table.

“Well?” And there’s demand in her voice as there usually isn’t.

Zelda’s knees wibble a wobble, she leans forward, neck lifted to match Hilda’s gaze.

“It’s sinful.”

“Good.”

Hilda’s looking at her mouth.

She feels melted chocolate on the corner of it, lifts a hand to wipe it away.

Hilda grabs the offending wrist, holds it firmly, eyes trained on the smudge.

“May I?” Asked so sweet.

“Yes.” Answered so hoarse. 

And there’s Hilda’s tongue tip on skin, warm and wet and Zelda swears she’s hallucinating.

She turns her head, captures roving lips between her own.

If this is a dream, might as well enjoy it.

Sister and sister kiss across the kitchen table.

There is strawberry and hazelnut and cocoa and sweet flour and raging desire between them.

Hilda pulls away with a sticky, contented sigh.

“I was hoping I could put in my bid as your Lupercalia partner this year.” Her murmur is dreamy.

Zelda’s head swims.

“I already said yes to someone.”

Her chagrin is caught up in surprise once again as Hilda traces the line of her jaw with one sharp-tipped finger.

Zelda’s eyes flutter closed.

“Maybe I can be your Valentine, then. Or just a secret. Either way,” Hilda leans closer. Zelda opens her eyes to see a kaleidoscope gaze staring back at her.

“Unlike you, I don’t mind sharing.”

~*~

Zelda doesn’t see Hilda at all the next day.

She is in a very foul mood for the whole of it. Poor Richard (or whatever his name is) is met with silence as they traverse the woods.

The moon lusts low, watching eager bodies gambol in the grass, the sterling light coating skin pearly and teasing.

It hangs off balance on this couple that walks off balance.

Zelda sits gingerly on fleece and tries not to yawn. Richard pulls out the champagne, the cherries, the erotic poetry.

Zelda raises her brow at his underestimated and unforeseen creativity, asks him to read a few stanzas as she discreetly hides the cherries under her discarded garments.

She has sister plans for those.

And for all of Richard’s unfortunate lackluster, he at least has a nice, deep reading voice.

She has him linger on a line about honey-dipped thighs.

When the poem is over and he’s reaching for her and he’s asking for the most innocent of kisses, she shoves his face back, his body down on the ground.

Gathers up her clothes and cherries, winks with audacity because she knows what she looks like under the lustrous moon and gives a half-hearted goodbye.

Then she’s gone.

~*~

Hilda’s nowhere to be found downstairs.

Zelda plucks absentmindedly on the strap of her nightie as she takes the stairs two at a time.

She’d changed in the car, more modest than she’d been before because Hilda has never shown interest in Lupercalia before (much less been so forward with Zelda about her intentions, lust-wise or other), and Zelda is loath to ruin the opportunity.

She’s practically vibrating as she reaches their bedroom, hand hesitant on the doorknob.

Deep breath — it opens with a soft creak.

Hilda’s back is to her, staring out at the window.

Her cardigan hangs soft and yellow on her shoulders.

Zelda tries and fails to suppress the way her shoulders sag.

She’d known it was too good to be true.

Hilda wasn’t ready.

She probably hadn’t been waiting up for her either.

Hilda turns.

Zelda’s breathe hitches.

Hilda is wearing her cardigan, yes, but under that, _very_ little else.

Bare feet (painted pink toes digging deep in the carpet), black lace wrapping up from the apex of her thighs to just above the dip of the bellybutton, a sheer scalloped bra that shows her dusky pink.

She is sex-beckoning, cardigan tinged sweet.

She is glory dripped. 

She is desire personified, but above all, she is Hilda.

And she’s dressed like this for Zelda.

Zelda doesn’t breathe at all.

“Is this okay?” Hilda asks, a blush sprinkling onto her cheeks, scattering across her lace bedecked chest. Nervous fingers pluck at the cuff of her cardigan.

“Am I proper for Lupercalia?”

Zelda opens her mouth.

Closes it.

It’s suddenly dry in here.

“Zelds?”

As anxiety starts replacing Hilda’s flush, she finally finds her bearings.

She looks at Hilda and is unable to keep her cool, her mouth opens and true feeling spills out.

“You’re perfect.”

~*~

They’ve pushed their beds together because Zelda doesn’t trust herself to keep up unholy abstinence if they share a twin-sized space (and they are _not_ lying on the floor).

Yet in all this area, they are only inches apart.

She can’t stop staring at Hilda.

“Where did you get this?” She breathes, reaching a hand out, hovering the outline of Hilda’s hips.

She expects her little sister to blush again, to dither on about the where and ultimately admit some embarrassing encounter with Mrs. Putnam at Greendale’s one department store.

Hilda does none of that.

She winks, head propped up on a little fist, and says, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

She rolls her eyes, feeling slight relief at her sister’s tease.

An ornery Hilda, she knows how to deal with.

“Obviously. That’s why I asked.”

Hilda shrugs. The moonlight is catching on her hair, making it glow golden and ethereal against her pillowcase.

Somehow, Hilda in their shared domestic space is more magical than anything the current Lupercalia festivities could attempt.

And then Zelda remembers.

“I have a present for you.”

Giddy and embarrassed, she hands Hilda cherries, dark and blood bruise against her pale flesh.

“Every witch deserves cherries on Lupercalia.”

Hilda’s smile is all excited and suddenly, terribly shy.

Zelda wants to kiss her so bad. 

“Here.”

She holds one out between her thumb and index finger.

Hilda rises forward, cherub lips opening, wet against Zelda’s grip.

She takes cherry and sister fingers into her mouth, tongue sliding against the pad of Zelda’s thumb as she takes in the fruit.

Her sharp canine catches on skin.

Zelda breathes out hard through her nose.

She is transfixed by the way Hilda’s jaw works, muscles clenching in her neck as she swallows, chest expanding as she inhales.

That black scoop holding her sister’s breast does nothing really. Simply holds Hilda secure and tantalizing, with all the skin it shows.

Zelda’s never been so jealous of fabric.

Hilda is no help, a moan rising from her throat as she enjoys a forbidden fruit.

“Mm... tastes good.”

Zelda swoops down.

~*~

She loves kissing Hilda.

Loves the rhythm of it.

Loves the bite.

Loves how, under random flavor from fruit or pastry, there is a taste distinctly Hilda.

A bit like buzzing, bit like honey.

Hilda moves closer, hands tentative on her rib cage. Her entire spine arches to the touch, she goes hungrier against Hilda’s mouth.

Silk clenches tight in Hilda’s fist. She moans, feels useless. Hilda’s lips have rendered her inert.

“We shouldn’t,” Zelda gasps out. “We shouldn’t anymore.”

Satan knows her willpower is admirable, but not when Hilda radiates warmth, not when she’s lace and lush before her.

“I want you though.” Gaze dark, lips bruising, Hilda sirens her neediness.

“Please touch me.”

Zelda does with reverent fingers.

~*~

The freckle on Hilda’s rib cage is hot to the touch.

Zelda skirts from the darkest dot to the next, aligning the stars on Hilda’s skin, mapping the heaven of her sister’s body.

This perfect space.

Hilda shivers on her cold hands.

And then she’s lapping at those stars, tongue gliding cosmos, red on Hilda’s cream soft neck.

Hilda’s mewl rumbles against her mouth. She grows bold.

Fingers splayed out on Hilda’s soft belly, feeling the lurch of sister’s gut as she tongues the dip between neck and collarbone.

Hilda’s breathy gasps are the only sound, delicious and suspended on night.

Zelda’s moan joins the symphony as she cups Hilda’s breast, feels the point of Hilda’s arousal through sheer fabric.

She soaks lace as she mouths worship and it hindrances no one. The languid path her lips make just has Hilda pulling her closer.

Rolling above, she slots her thigh between Hilda’s, delighting in the slick she finds there.

“Ah—Zel”

Hilda catches her own words as she moans, Zelda’s thigh causing such delicious friction against lace.

Pupils blown black; she gazes up at her sister. Zelda’s grinning, lower lip caught between sharp teeth, mischief and desire in equal parts as that dastardly thigh thrusts up again.

“Zel”

Interrupted as she’s kissed.

“Zel”

A gasp as thigh rubs hard against her yearning.

Zelda is doing this on purpose.

Keeping her on this loop of stuttered desire.

“Stop _teasing_.”

She can’t help the whine that escapes.

Zelda’s chuckle reverberates between them both, and then her sister is sliding a hand down and rubbing her clit and she could come from just that.

“Oh sister mine, haven’t I always taken care of you?”

And then Hilda calls her name, long and drawn out.

~*~

It’s only in the aftermath, only as Zelda’s draped along her side and lazily clenching fistfuls of cardigan, that Hilda remembers.

“I think we broke the rules.”

“Well, there’s always next year.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

And then Zelda’s hands go greedier, eyes twinkling with promise.

“I have _such_ plans for you, sister.”

Hilda’s already reaching for her.

“I’d hoped you would. Happy Lupercalia.”

“Happy Lupercalia _indeed_.”


End file.
